A Routine Night
by Little Polveir
Summary: Shelagh is woken in the early hours of the morning. Written to be either a continuation of "Mother's Gifts" or (Spoiler warning) the end result of Patrick and Shelagh's conversation in Series 3 Episode 6. I know which version I prefer, but I'll let your imagination and HTMG's wonderful writing decide. One shot.


It was the early hours of the morning and Shelagh had been fast asleep, but was awoken by a noise from the nursery next door. She had never been a heavy sleeper, but now even the slightest sound from her baby daughter had her springing to action faster than even the sharpest of Sister Evangelina's commands. She fumbled on the bedside table for her glasses and then slithered out from under the bedclothes and found her slippers. The whimpering from next door had developed into a proper cry, its shrill timbre piercing the silence of the house. Although perfectly used to the vast array of noises a young baby could make, it had taken the last few weeks for Shelagh to learn precisely what each of them meant. "That is a hungry cry," she thought. Even though she knew that it was only a cry of hunger, she still felt a slight sense of guilt thinking that she had done something to upset her daughter.

"I'm coming wee one," she said quietly, but with a sense of urgency in her voice.

Trying not to wake Patrick she crept out of the bedroom door and into the nursery. Even in the dark, the only light being the glow of the landing light, the nursery had a warm aura to it. Painted lemon yellow and white, with complementary curtains and carpet, the cot stood against one wall, a chest of drawers and a small wardrobe against the opposite. There was a small wingback chair by the window between the cot and the wardrobe, and an Ottoman chest at the foot of the cot. A mobile hung above the cot, and the majority of its interior space was filled by teddy bears, sent by friends and family. On entering, Shelagh went straight to the cot and looked down into it to where her daughter was wriggling and crying. She picked her up and rocked her gently to calm her down. A wonderful sensation rippled through Shelagh's body, she loved the warm feeling of her daughter's little body against hers. She kissed her forehead, breathing in her daughter's scent.

"Sssssssh I'm here, it's alright."

She felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. She remembered Sister Julienne saying something very similar to her, long ago, when she felt little more than a frightened child, crying for her mother. She shook the thought out of her head, and placed her daughter onto her chest, cradling her head against her collarbone with one hand, holding her as tightly to her as she dared.

"Come on you let's go downstairs, we don't want to wake Daddy and Timmy."

Shelagh crept down the stairs and into the sitting room, switching on the table lamp as she walked passed. Having got everything she needed ready, her years as a midwife had taught her to be prepared for every eventuality, she settled down on the sofa and began to feed her daughter. Although it was a summer night, there was a slight chill in the air, so Shelagh pulled a patchwork blanket around them, tucking the ends underneath her. The house was still and quiet, the only sounds to be heard were Shelagh's steady breathing and her daughter gently sucking and contentedly gurgling between mouthfuls. Shelagh smiled from ear to ear as she watched her daughter, hoping that this wonderful novelty would never wear off.

As she sat feeding, Shelagh reflected on how much life had changed for the Turners since their daughter's arrival. She smiled at the thought of their first day together, how she could not take her eyes off her, how Patrick had skipped round the house with the energy of a man half his age, and how Timothy had spent hours just holding or watching her, completely fascinated. She remembered the joy of placing her daughter in her cot on that first night. Tucking her baby into bed, surrounded by teddy bears and in a new nightdress, nothing could have been more perfect.

Shelagh looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It read 2:20. She sighed. Of course, parenthood was not plain sailing. She had had to learn the skills of motherhood fast and alone, not being able to ask her own mother for help. Interrupted sleep was beginning to affect her. Since leaving Nonnatus House, she had become accustomed to sleeping through the night rather than rushing off to deliveries at all hours or rising before dawn for prayers. Now she had to rush to her daughter to feed her or change her nappy. Though, she knew that she would not want to have it any other way. She could not imagine life without her daughter now. Patrick helped out as much as he could during the day, but he was more reluctant to do night shifts. Shelagh did not mind, she did not have to go to work, so she let him sleep. She could sleep during the day whilst the baby slept. Timothy also helped in any way that he could, though he absolutely refused to have anything to do with nappies.

"The four Turners," she thought, "a perfect team."

She smiled again as remembered taking her daughter to Nonnatus House to meet her friends properly for the first time. She had enjoyed walking there more than she had ever enjoyed another walk. It was a glorious day: warm sunshine; a gentle breeze ruffling her hair; and she was pushing a pram; her pram. She spent several hours in the garden of Nonnatus House that afternoon, drinking tea, eating cake and discussing her new life. Sister's Julienne and Monica Joan were there when she arrived and had both insisted on long cuddles, Sister Julienne in particular. Shelagh had to blink back tears as she watched Sister Julienne's face light up as she held the baby, her face glowing to an extent that Shelagh had rarely seen, except when induced by the very occasional drink which she indulged at Christmas and other such events. The other nuns and midwives flitted in and out during the afternoon in between deliveries and rounds, but they all managed to stay long enough to coo over the baby, have a cuddle and, in Trixie's case, tease Shelagh about how even more soppy motherhood had made her: "You were bad enough with Timothy!" she had giggled, much to Shelagh's embarrassment. Chummy had brought Freddie to visit, and the little boy was completely enthralled by the sight of a person even smaller than he was. Even Sister Evangelina managed to display her emotions as she cradled the little girl, and mustered up a hug for Shelagh.

The baby finished her feed and Shelagh wiped dribbled milk off her face with a piece of muslin, before putting her and the muslin over her shoulder to burp her. After a few moments of Shelagh gently patting her back, she obliged, making a sound which Shelagh had grown to love.

"There that's better isn't it?" Shelagh cooed, "Now we better see if this nappy needs changing."

It did. Shelagh took the dirty nappy off, cleaned her daughter up and replaced the nappy with a fresh dry one, pinning it together with utmost care. She then placed the dirty one in a bucket of water in the garden to soak before she washed it in the morning. She returned to the sofa and gently rocked her daughter until she fell asleep. Removing the blanket from round them and switching off the table lamp, she carried her back up to the nursery and placed her gently into her cot.

"I love you wee one, sleep tight, Mummy will see you later."

Creeping silently out of the door, Shelagh returned to her and Patrick's room, slid back under the covers, and slept soundly, until she was needed.


End file.
